


Snip and Trim

by Nimravidae



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Established Relationship, Hair-pulling Kink, M/M, Modern AU, Office Sex, Older Man/Younger Man, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Window Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6358483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Alex did was cut his hair. Not that he's complaining about the reaction it gets out of Washington, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snip and Trim

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like three weeks ago for [Iniquiticity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity) for her birthday AND FORGOT TO POST IT. It's seriously been sitting in my drafts for so long now. Oh my word, I'm the worst.

He got a haircut. It wasn’t anything big, hardly even past what someone could consider a trim. All Alexander did was get it cut so it just came short of brushing his shoulders, he still kept it back in a low ponytail when he was at work, still tucked it into a bun when he was at home. Still would get it pulled it loose when Washington had him bent over his desk.

It was just a little shorter now, a little harder to get caught in windows and in the strap of his messenger bag when he was in a rush. Nothing too significant, it wasn’t like he’d shaved his head or dyed it bright-fucking-pink. Hell, hardly a person in the office had noticed or if they had it wasn’t worth commenting on. Just passing glance, a hum, a “Did you cut your hair?” It wasn’t even anything resembling a business appropriate haircut, which would’ve been more shocking than the cut he’d gotten.

It wasn’t a significant change, but of course he noticed. Washington would notice if Alex kept his spare hair tie on his right wrist instead of his left, if he missed a spot shaving, if he hadn’t slept more than two hours the night before--all without a second glance at Alex’s desk. Washington made noticing his business, observing silently and remaining silent about his observations until it was pertinent to whatever was going on. Which was why, when he stopped in front of the man's desk on his way back from whatever meeting or business lunch or networking event he always thought was painfully boring, Alex had to look up at him, one brow arched in a quiet confusion.

“You cut your hair,” he says, even and smooth, but with the dark little glint in his eye that always led to trouble. Alex swallows back a comment and instead glances back to his screen and then up to his boss.

“I did, I thought it was time.” He tries to keep his fingers from flickering up to brush back a stray strand, but he fails. He tucks it behind his ear and reads the same line of words and numbers three more times before he can look at Washington again, careful not to make it obvious. They always had to be careful.

Careful when Alex was on his knees under Washington’s desk, careful when Washington had him pushed up against the door, careful when Washington gagged him on his fingers and spread him over his nice, expensive desk and left dark bites right over the rise of Alex’s hips. Careful.

Always careful. 

Washington fixes Alex with that look he got when he gets an idea he’s particularly fond of and nods, dragging the tips of his fingers along the smooth edge of Alex’s desk for a moment before he speaks, “There was a mistake with the quarterly reports I was sent yesterday. Finish what you’re doing then meet me in my office.” Half of Alex wanted to roll his eyes, bristling a little at how Washington made it seem like he’d made a mistake.

Those reports were perfect. Alex knows because he checked them over  _ himself _ . But he knows the lie was to keep both of them from being watercooler gossip, so he doesn’t react except for a quick, “yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” 

It was nearing five already and everyone who wasn’t laden down with work was itching to leave--which was fine by Alex. If he could draw out what he could finish in twenty minutes down to an hour, it would mean less people in the office. Less people around to see him walk out of Washington’s office. Less people to risk hearing him.

Maybe he can dick around on Twitter for a bit before finishing, he thinks to himself as he leans forward in his seat again and sees if Jefferson blocked him yet. He hasn’t - the dumbass - and Alex figures he can kill a bit of time this way. 

He ends up scraping through the last few dredges of what he had to do half an hour after he’d projected to. Shutting down his computer, he doesn’t bother pretending like he’s going home yet as he crosses the mostly-empty office to knock sharply at Washington’s office door. He waits for the muffled, “come in,” before opening the heavy door.

Washington’s office is easily the most impressive that Alex’s has seen in his twenty-six years which isn’t saying much, but if Alex could judge by the expressions of other people seeing it for the first time he’d say it was pretty impressive still. Large, smooth silver-black desk sits towards the back wall. Two of the four walls of the corner office were ceiling-to-floor glass windows overlooking New York City with a clear, high view. It was intimidating. Between the height and the cold emptiness that floods the space, it was a wonder that Alex found the room itself as comfortable as he did. Maybe it was because he’d spent more time in it getting laid than questioned by Washington.

Probably.

Alex folds his hands behind his back after he shuts the door quietly behind him. “Lock it, if you would, Alexander. Then come here.”

He does just that, letting the heavy bolt click into place before slowly striding over the smooth and polished floor until he was standing in front of Washington’s desk, head bowed but eyes glinting with a small challenge. “I’m sorry about the mistake in the reports, sir. If I could ask exactly what I did wrong?”

“You cut your hair,” Washington says, a perfect echo of what he’d said before and Alex nods and looks up. It’s a miracle he can keep the smirk off his lips as he repeats himself as Washington stands from behind his desk and crosses around to Alex. 

“I did. But the quarterly reports, I’m sure they’re correct.” He turns to look up at Washington, the innocent look in his eyes rapidly fading down to a dark spark, “unless you had another reason for calling me into your office, of course.”

Slowly, with a clear motive in mind, Washington’s hand comes up to tug the band from Alex’s hair, letting him wince as it pulls at stray hairs. His fingers weave carefully, brushing out his hair slowly as he says again, “You cut it.” They tighten in an instant, pulling Alex’s head back sharp enough to build a gasp in the base of his throat. There’s warm air at his throat followed by the familiar drag of lips over his skin. “It’s almost too short for me to do that,” Washington tells his pulse point before giving it a kiss. “Almost too short for me grab and shove your mouth down on my cock,” As much as Alex shivers and builds up an apology in his chest, he knows it’s bullshit. His hair was still plenty long enough but he knows this game well enough.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t know you’d be so opposed to me getting it cut. It’s only that you haven’t grabbed me by my hair and shoved my face down and fucked me in so long--I forgot how great it feels. I thought you didn’t want to do it anymore,” more bullshit. But it gets the response Alex wants as Washington’s growl ripples through him, pressed against his skin with his lips and he’s fairly certain that’s how he’s going to end up.

Although--when he’s proven wrong he isn’t exactly complaining. Not when Washington stalks forward, crowding Alex back against the window with his hand still fisted tightly in his hair. He guides him back, pulling as much as he’s pushing until can pull his lips to snarl against his ear, “Turn around and put your hands on the wall. Do not move them until I say you may,” He drags his tongue along the rim of Alex’s ear and bites down lightly on the lobe. Alex’s knees nearly give. He hastens to obey, pressing his palms flat against the window and waits. Waits as Washington’s heat leaves his back and his hand leaves his hair. Waits as he registers the sound of a drawer opening. Waits as he listens to heavy footsteps coming closer and closer until his hands are on Alex’s hips. “Good boy,” he whispers and Alex’s cheeks burn already. So it was one of these nights, the nights when Washington’s fingers move at a crawl to Alex’s belt and his breath is hot against the back of his neck as he slowly clicks it open and slides one palm down the front of his pants to stroke over his cock. 

Lips come to rest behind his ear again, low voice sending shockwaves through Alex’s body, “Go on, tell me, are you going to behave for me, Alex?”

He doesn’t exactly like how his voice stutters, but there’s a hot hand working it’s way into his boxers and his pride is already done for, “Yes, sir. I’ll behave.” His breath hitches into a whine as Washington wraps his hand around Alex’s cock and strokes him slowly and it sure as fuck doesn’t help that he slowly presses his own hips back against Alex’s ass so he can feel his erection through his pants. 

Alex even gets rewarded with the gentle kiss to the shell of his ear before Washington pulls his hand back, much to Alex’s rather vocal complaints, and instead works on rucking down Alex’s pants until he can kick them off, followed by his boxers rather quickly. Washington’s hands are back on his hips when Alex is down to just his button-up and tie, fingers splayed so close to his straining erection but not close enough. He doesn’t buck though, doesn’t wiggle or shift or move his hands from their place on the glass.

He won’t. He already promised he would behave and he has every intent of keeping that promise as Washington shifts behind him, pressing his clothed cock against Alex’s ass and rolling his hips forward with a short little groan. Hands skate upwards, rucking up his shirt to skate along his stomach and up his chest and pinch a nipple sharply. For his credit, Alex doesn’t yelp. He bites his lip and keeps still. He tries to focus his eyes on the blur of lights in front of him as his heavy breaths slowly fog up the glass. His palms are sweating and his arms starting to shake from holding position for so long, but he can see the city and he half-wishes the city could see him. Pressed half-naked against his bosses window, cock aching and heavy as said boss slowly grinds his own hardon against his ass. He feels debauched, he feels dirty, he feels so fucking good. So very fucking good as Washington grunts at him to keep his hands in place as he pulls away. He steels himself, following a nudge at his ankle by Washington’s foot to spread his legs a little more before there’s a telling sound of a cap. Followed pretty quickly by a slick finger pressing at his entrance. Alex tenses his arms and locks his knees as a single, thick, finger presses deep into him. 

It stretches him faster and deeper than Alex could ever get and if he had it his way (which, well, most of the time did) he’d never be fingering himself again. Instead he’d have Washington do it as he sinks down to the knuckle with one hand and slips his other back up to flick over Alex’s nipple again. This time he moans, a low and quiet sound reverberating from his throat and ghosting over the glass like a fading thought. Washington doesn’t even chastise him and he’s thankful because Alex really doesn’t think he could stay quiet if he did. Instead he works him slowly with the one finger until Alex hovers on the brink of begging for another--but he reads him better than he could’ve ever hoped and presses a second along the first and twists them inside of Alex. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, his fingertips turning white as he presses them into the glass, and he so very much wants to misbehave. But he knows the punishment would be him not being allowed to come and he’s already fucking gagging for it. But Washington presses his fingers deeper into him and hooks them against his prostate and Alex is seeing stars. 

He takes in a steadying, shaking breath, and exhales when he feels Washington’s hand slip from his shirt and move to tilt Alex’s head to the side and back for a sloppy, mis-aimed kiss as he works and spreads his fingers until Alex whimpers a desperate little, “Please?”

He wishes he didn’t though, when fingers slide from him and he’s stuck empty until the rustling of clothes perks him back up. There’s a muffled groan from behind him and he’s so well-behaved he tilts his hips back out more without moving his hands from their place. He can see the city stretched before him as the head of Washington’s cock presses lightly along his hole. Alex can’t help his quick gasp as he pushes into him, slowly filling and stretching him past what his fingers could reach until the rough feeling of his pants press against Alex’s thighs.

Need and want and desperation rushes through his blood as Washington gives a shallow, testing roll of his hips. “Do you want it harder, baby?” He growls, biting at his ear and down to his neck as he curls one hand to brush Alex’s hair out of the way and yank both collar and loosened-tie down to get at more of his skin. The other stays firmly curled around a hip covered in bruises of varying degrees of healing. He’s pretty sure his skin hasn’t been unmarked since they’d started this, started their dance.

His fingers only tighten against glass as Washington’s do the same to his hip with each slowly-building thrust, thick fingers are brinking on replacing faded bruises when Washington rumbles, “Move your hands down, stick your ass out like a pretty little slut.” His thrusts slow to a stop while Alex complies, pressing himself back against Washington as he juts his ass out more, nothing but his grip on the window and Washington’s hand on his hip keeping him from collapsing as Washington fucks harder into him, second hand joining the first to hold Alex to thoroughly pound into him with everything he has. 

He chokes on his moans and gasps with each sharp and desperate inhale as each rough thrust shakes and cracks Alex to his core; he’s breathing so hard and sharp and thickly desperate he’s shocked no one’s come looking for the source of the sound--but for all he knows it’s inaudible above the slick slapping of skin against skin. He catches a glimpse of Washington in the faded reflection of the window, his eyes shut and sweat on his brow as he pulls back farther and lets his head fall back with a low groan.

It’s such an erotic sight, and Alex’s own moan bubbles back up from his throat at that. He knows from there Washington isn’t far from his peak and as each thrust drags just right against his prostate Alex isn’t exactly flagging. Sure enough, his timing pays out and Washington’s thrusts pick up and lose rhythm; they turn sharper and harder and hardly spends a blink of time without his cock buried deep inside of Alex. He feels the hot rush inside him accompanying a shuddering groan from behind him, and Alex pushes back against him to help him ride out his orgasm. 

It isn’t until Washington pulls out and, from the sound behind him, wipes himself off with a few tissues, that he speaks. “What are we going to do with you?” He asks, clear sounds of a zip and belt signifying him getting re-dressed and if he leaves Alex like this, he’ll scream. But thankfully, there’s mercy in the man. Washington wraps an arm around Alex, lips at the back of his neck again and he wraps a strong hand around his aching cock and pumps him with quick, efficient strokes and soon, Alex is pushing back into his hold as his come splatters the clear glass, head twisting back against Washington’s neck with a sharp cry. 

He pants, taking in the scent of sweat and cologne and skin and something fading just under it. Smoke, like he’d been around people smoking.

Right. 

Business lunch. Alex presses back against him and litters his jaw with soft kisses and at least one daring nip to his neck. Washington chuckles and lets him regain his footing, “Look at that mess you made, baby.” Dark eyes find the come dripping down the glass and almost winces. That can’t be easy to clean, even if it looks so nice against the view of the city. But Alex knows, knows what Washington wants even as the man steps back to grab something to clean it up with and, ever obedient, Alex drops to his knees in front of the glass. 

He makes eye contact, half-lidded and hazy, as he drags his tongue once through the mess, letting it smear in streaks as he watches Washington freeze behind him. He smirks as he swallows as obviously as he can. Pride wells as he realizes he’s surprised him and he reaches back to take the cleaning wipe from his hands and finishes cleaning like that. He’s barely got a smear left when Washington’s hand finds his hair again, giving it a light tug to motion him to his feet, twisting him around to kiss him hot and filthy and dirty. 

They remain like that, for just a few more moments until Washington pulls away with a sharp breath. “Get dressed, I’ll drive you home.”

Alex breathes in once. Then twice as Washington tears himself away and turns back around.

“Yes, sir.” His lips curl into a smirk as he watches the man's shoulders tense. Maybe he should cut his hair more often.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://tooeasilyconsidered.tumblr.com)


End file.
